


I Love It, I Love It, I Love It When You Eat It

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band), Infinite (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: "Can I?" Dongwoo groans, impatient, almost a whine. "Can I fuck you with my tongue?"





	I Love It, I Love It, I Love It When You Eat It

**Author's Note:**

> warning: rimming
> 
> title from rihanna's "cockiness (i love it)"

The sound Dongwoo presses against Minseok's throat is midway between a laugh and a moan. Choked off and wet and breathy and desperate, it makes Minseok's eyelashes flutter, has his hips jerking forward into the firm solidity of Dongwoo's spread thighs. Dongwoo grinds down even harder at that, choking on a laugh as he mouths more insistently at the hollow of Minseok's throat, tongue hot and possessive as it traces in teasing swirls.

And the sound Minseok releases in response is midway between a whimper and a moan. He tugs at Dongwoo's hair, urging him harder. And there's the fleeting, scraping promise of Dongwoo's teeth then, a richer moan stamped to Minseok's trembling neck.

"Fuck," Minseok breathes, head crashing back against the mirrored wall, the pain registering with a dull throb at the base of his skull as Dongwoo drags the heft of his clothed cock along Minseok's own. Hard, heavy, it forces an even more ragged sound from Minseok's lips, his body chasing the friction still.

And there's a smirk now, too. Another laugh, but less exuberant and breathless emotion, more more more dark amusement. _This is how I like you best_ , Dongwoo has informed him on multiple occasions, _be like this always for my sake_.

Dongwoo, he'd called Minseok here under false pretenses. Practicing for the upcoming festival, wanting his boyfriend there for moral support. It was okay that Minseok had just showered, he wasn't asking him to dance along, just to maybe correct any mistakes he saw. They can go out for pizza afterwards. Maybe bingsu. Please, Minseok, these are boyfriend duties, after all. The _please_ so whiny that Minseok could practically _hear_ the pout in it, see the awful persuasive tilt of Dongwoo's eyelashes whenever he is trying to—succeeding at—swaying Minseok's opinion, wearing down his protests.

(Please, couple costumes are cute. Please just one more movie. Please stay the night. Please, please, just let me suck you off in this library in celebration of finals being over)

And Minseok has suspected something when Dongwoo had met him outside the building. Freshly showered, hair still wet, smelling of cucumber melon body wash—unnecessary if Dongwoo _was_ really just going to rehearse until he was slick with sweat and trembling with exhaustion—but Minseok had given his boyfriend the benefit of the doubt anyway, threading their fingers together, hands swinging between their bodies as they wandered towards the dance room. Dongwoo had abandoned all pretenses, however, as soon as he’d locked the door behind them, cupping Minseok’s face in his hands, dragging him forward for a heavy, heady kiss.

And now here they are. Making out, grinding, moaning, defacing something sacred. But Dongwoo's body feels so strong, so solid, caging him in, pressing him back like this, and his mouth tastes of spearmint, warmth, familarity, love, maybe, he thinks, they're getting there.

Minseok had wanted this, something like this, some derivative of Dongwoo's hands, mouth, body on his own since the first moment he'd seen him two years back. Dongwoo with his hair in his eyes, sweat on his skin, a thin thin tank top clinging to his chest, a pair of loose sweat pants just _barely_ holding onto his defined hips. Disarmingly beautiful and distressingly approachable, raw raw talent, all forceful thrusts and gorgeous rolls, smooth and sinful. Dongwoo, he's even smoother now, all the more sinful like this, working towards a darker, more delicious purpose. Rocking into Minseok's until he's gasping, so fucking hard it hurts.

This is risky, he knows, ill-advised and wrong, too, but there's really nowhere else he would rather be. Nothing else he would rather be doing. And maybe, maybe the forbidden aspect of this ends an extra jolt of heat to the entire affair.

Dongwoo’s hands are sliding down his sides, fingers ghosting over his nipples, his ribs in their meandering descent towards his waist. Dongwoo squeezes hard there briefly before sliding his fingers beneath the fabric of his shorts, too.

And Minseok can't really say he minds, not when Dongwoo's shifting to mouth at the ribbed material of his tanktop, lips catching, teeth scraping teasing before biting down _hard_.

Minseok arches into the sting, nails dragging in blatant encouragement. Dongwoo shifts, bites down again, sucking this time as he pulls away, a mark, a keepsake, a reminder no doubt blooming on Minseok’s skin in the aftermath.

Dongwoo likes to bite, mark, suck, worship, he _calls_ it. He's worshiping at the altar of Minseok's body every time he does this, reverent, appreciative any time he claims him in this elemental, hot, hot way. And Minseok, drunk on it, likes, wants, love to indulge him like this.

Minseok feels like he's ready to combust already. He can’t—doesn’t _want_ to—stop, his nails digging into the sleek definition of Dongwoo's biceps as he pants for more. Dongwoo's hands slide fully underneath Minseok's shorts, thumbs drawing dizzingly circles on Minseok's hipbones as his long, long fingers splay across the swell of Minseok's ass. Dragging him closer, urging him even harder. Minseok ruts upward with an embarrassingly wrecked, resounding moan.

"Taste so good," Dongwoo groans, sliding down down down to mouth at the pucker of Minseok's nipples, the concave dip of his navel.

"Help yourself," Minseok drawls, but his voice breaks as Dongwoo kneels fully, nuzzles fully.

And they're really going to—they never have, but Minseok is really going to—And really, Minseok knows, they shouldn't even be—but, but, but Dongwoo's awful, beautiful, perfect mouth pressing hot and wet right right right where he wants it.

And Minseok nudges his hips closer, blatant invitation, blatant desire. He lets Dongwoo's lips, cheeks, nose drag against the strain of his erection. It's a sweet, sweet ache, the most exquisite promise of release.

"Taste so good," Dongwoo repeats—unnecessarily—blinking up at him through lustheavy eyelashes. He laves his tongue at the tent of fabric. His hands are still around Minseok's hips, soothing also unnecessarily as he teases his bottom lip, top lip against Minseok's covered cock.

"Keep going," Minseok gasps, chokes out as Dongwoo seizes his hips sharply, turns him roughly. He tugs down Minseok's shorts at the same time.

And _oh_.

Minseok hasn't for a while, but _oh oh oh oh oh oh_.

Minseok's hands clap against the cool, mirror, cheek grazing, dragging as he pants. He fogs up the mirror as Dongwoo strains upwards, pushes Minseok's shirt high enough to bite at the dip of his spine. Dongwoo's breath blows hot there—torture—and Minseok bows with a moan. Dongwoo laves a succulent kiss on the swell of his ass, a slow, slow luxurious bite. The cotton does little to lessen the sting.

"I didn't bring—" Minseok stutters out. The benefit of a doubt, he'd given Dongwoo the benefit of a doubt. "We—we can't—"

"Fuck," Dongwoo interrupts. And his voice is impossibly deep, a rumble of achingly hot air against his skin.

"Yes," Minseok laments. Turn me back around, he means to add, we can suck each other off, keep grinding maybe, but we can’t—

But then Dongwoo's mouth flutters further down, breath ghosting, tongue grazing in a featherlight, wet, wet caress. Rich and tempting and exquisite even through the fabric of his boxers, and Minseok trembles.

And _oh_.

"I can still fuck you with my tongue," Dongwoo clarifies. Unnecessarily. He peels Minseok's boxers to midthigh, rests his head there with a soft, appreciative hum that has Minseok blushing in spite of the circumstances.

They've tried it once before, succeeded at it. At the dorms when Minseok's roommate was away, Dongwoo had left Minseok a quivering mess of boneless sensation and fried nerve endings, too strung out to return the favor in any capacity. And maybe—maybe he's been hoping for a repeat, but right here it's not, not—

"Can I?" Dongwoo groans, impatient, almost a whine. "Can I fuck you with my tongue?"

"Wrong," Minseok protests. "Too much." And Dongwoo licks a long, wet stripe down the dip of his spine, his fingers wrap around Minseok's waist, forearm grazing his cock. Minseok jerks towards the friction, mindless, helpless.

"But you _love_ it," Dongwoo breathes, all husky and ruined, words blowing hot, dragging wet.

And yes, Minseok does. He fucking _does_. And he's too caught up to reflect much on how wrong wrong wrong this is. Wronger yet than making out, fucking against the wall, dirtier and more forbidden.

Minseok's head lolls to the side with a drawled out _yes_ , and Dongwoo spares a long, luxiourious bite, his hands splaying over Minseok's asscheeks, exposing Minseok further, making him tremble in anticipation.

"I think about this every time you wear these awful shorts to dance practice," Dongwoo confesses, his fingernails biting into Minseok's skin as he squeezes hard, drawls out the words. "Think about what you're hiding underneath. Think about licking you open again, you grinding back on my tongue."

Minseok groans at the imagery, manages a breathy, breathy _Shut up_ , but his spine is still dipping, his ass still wiggling in encouragement, need.

And then Dongwoo, thankfully, mercifully, isn’t saying much of anything, leaning forward to mouth hotly, communicating instead with the the excruciatingly slow, thorough exploration of his tongue. He circles Minseok’s rim in a succulent kiss that has Minseok scrambling at the mirror, smearing his sweaty palms in desperate streaks, hiccuping over a moan. His rubber sneakers squeak as they catch on the wood floor, legs parting sloppily as they quiver

Dongwoo, enthusiastic as always, awful as always, he gets right to the point, humming in appreciation as he eases Minseok open and trembling and whimpering with the wide, wet strokes of his tongue. Licking and licking and licking until Dongwoo’s name is all that Minseok can manage. Dongwoo, yes, more, please, God, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —

Dongwoo’s tongue, it’s different than Dongwoo’s fingers, his cock. More delicate, more slick, more supple. Pointed and precise, every press reduces him to trembling limbs and helpless moans, and all Minseok can make out is the squeak of his sweaty palms, the desperate pitch of his own moans, as he scrambles for some purchase, some anchor, some reprieve, some control. More, more leverage as he’s inundated with mounting mounting mounting pleasure. Minseok tilts his body further, arched sharply. He has the presence of mind at least not to rut against the cold glass as he pants for more, _begs_ for it.

And Dongwoo, Minseok realizes with a shudder, a gasped, _yes_ , he’s _everything_ like this. His tongue, his fervor in this, his intent on Minseok’s pleasure, he’s _everything_.

He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

And then Dongwoo is moaning into him, too, pulling away just just just briefly, tortuously to inform Minseok that he’s jerking himself off _you taste so good_. And every subsequent sound is a delicious vibration against his skin, thrumming down down down _deep_.

“Please,” he rasps. “Please, Dongwoo."

And it’s even worse—better—when Dongwoo reaches forward with his free hand to grasp at Minseok’s aching cock. His dance-calloused fingers stroke just just just _so_ , dragging along the underside, twisting sharply on the upstroke as he fucks his tongue deeper deeper deeper inside. So deep, he’s in so deep and wet and firm and beautiful, dancing along the grooved flesh of Minseok’s walls, ruining him with every wet, wonderful glide.

And the sensations are overwhelming, the heat, the slickness of Dongwoo’s tongue in his ass, the awful, disarming vibration of his moans, the smooth strokes of his palm over Minseok’s cock. Minseok is being taken apart on both ends, coming apart piece by piece until he’s gasping out a _Oh fuck gonna gonna gonna—_

Dongwoo turns him suddenly, swallowing his cock then. Minseok’s head crashes back against the glass as he blinks down heavily at Dongwoo with a reverent curse. So, so perfect, he decides. Dongwoo is so perfect.

And Minseok can _see_ him now, the way he’s jerking himself off as he bobs eagerly, sucks hard, and that’s all it takes for Minseok to come. Heavy, loud, gasping, his knees turn to jelly, and he collapses with it, bare ass clapping against the wooden floor, legs kicking uselessly as he pants.

So dirty, he remembers. So wrong. So, so good nonetheless.

Dongwoo is still hard, still jerking himself as he sags against Minseok, moaning into his skin, lips catching on the column of his throat, eyelashes fluttering rapidly. Less useless this time, Minseok's hand joins Dongwoo’s, reinforcing the stroke, making it even faster, harder, tighter. He tilts Dongwoo’s cock towards his bare stomach, relishes in the warm spurt of Dongwoo’s release against his skin two, three strokes later. Dongwoo bites down with a wrecked, drawnout groan as he pulses in his grasp, trembles still with the aftershocks.

"Really, really liked that dance session," Minseok breathes after a moment, and the sound that Dongwoo presses against against Minseok’s throat is midway between a laugh and a groan.

“Yes,” Dongwoo agrees after a beat. “Yes, me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 crosspost~


End file.
